


Growth/Decay

by Perpetuality



Series: Escapril 2020 [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Zombie Apocalypse, tbh i don't think it's graphic at all but better to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perpetuality/pseuds/Perpetuality
Summary: With all forms of growth there is inevitably a stopping point. But there’s often so much more to go before it all begins to decay.
Series: Escapril 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692679
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Growth/Decay

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of inspired by all the Pokemon horror rpgs (Dusk and Dawn) I've been watching, I guess?
> 
> Tbh none of this literally has anything to do with the prompt, but oh well.

The smell of decay permeates through the air. Unable to stop himself, he gags.

He presses the fabric of his sleeve close against his mouth, vainly attempting to block out the worst of the smell and steps inside. It was a complete slaughter, he soon realises; the door he managed to pry open with the crowbar he picked up earlier had been deadlocked and further sealed with a chain-and-padlock. Whoever had incited this had been thorough in ensuring that all possible exit points were sealed, preventing anything from going in--or anyone from coming out, if the scattered bodies, worn down fingernails, and broken equipment are any indication.

It’s not even the first time he’s seen such a sight and yet he still finds his body instinctively locking up. He couldn’t help but feel the instinctive urge to hurl at just how awful it all looks and smells. The way the corpses, not all of which are intact, and dried blood paint a picture of what had once been a stalwart in the eyes of many survivors.

The odor heavily hangs in the air. He suspects that it’s already seeped into his clothes.

He carefully steps over the bodies piled up near the entrance, keeping his gaze trained steadfastly in front of him as he makes a beeline towards where the kitchen once was, if the map he was given is at all accurate. His footsteps echo throughout the ground floor, the sound hollow in his ears. He’s only here to look for supplies, he quietly reminds himself, cautious and on heightened alert despite the stillness and lack of life. He’s not here to create conspiracy theories but it’s hard to quell his thoughts entirely when he knows just what this place used to be.

The largest safehouse in this district...it’s all that had been advertised over the active radio channels, few they had been. If it wasn’t broadcast over the waves, the news spread by word of mouth. The process of building the bastion, the mass migration there in hopes of beginning anew, the growth and rebirth of society and what had once been considered normal. In today’s state of the world, paradise. Clearly, it did not last. Just what exactly had happened?

With all forms of growth there is inevitably a stopping point. But there’s often so much more to go before it all begins to decay.

“Shit,” he mumbles, opening another cupboard and coming up again with nothing. The architectural blueprint wound up being accurate in the end, but he couldn’t celebrate for long. All the nonperishable foods are long gone, likely consumed by the stragglers struggling to survive before they too succumbed and perished. As for what he is able to find--fruits, a handful of raw vegetables, someone’s secret stash of crackers wedged tightly between the cracks of the floorboard--none of them are of any use. They are all rotten. Just like the state of the numerous bodies he’s walked by already.

Frustrated, he nearly slams the wooden doors shut, only to think better of it and leave them be. He knows that all the people here had died, but from what? If he’s lucky, it was from natural causes, starvation, or from each other. If less lucky, it's from one of those _fuckers_.

The way the frontmost entrance had been barred has not left his mind. He could rationalise that it was to prevent anyone from leaving if, say, someone had grabbed all the food and tried to escape, but it’s also just as likely, if not more, that an infected wound up somehow slipping inside, undetected despite all the security measures and background checks instated.

He doesn’t want to stick around long enough to find out which it is. Unlike those here who have already met their end, he still has room to grow. He still intends to fight tooth and nail to ensure that he can continue to push past the soil and make his way towards the sunlight.

When he finally returns to the entrance, empty-handed, unscathed, but without any encounters, the smell of decay still permeates through the air. It’s a lot less nauseating this time. He chances one last look behind him and moves on.


End file.
